Icelandic law requires a full and thorough swimsuit-less shower before entering the lagoon, and I charged through all the faff of wristbands and towels and lockers to burst out into the sunlight and plunge into its deliciously warm and stupidly blue depths. The water is pale and almost opaque to the point of your body becoming invisible more than an inch below the surface. It's warmer than a bath, and sometimes uncomfortably so. The lagoon is so stuffed with minerals that it's easy to float along blissfully almost entirely above the surface of the water, totally oblivious to how far your drifting takes you - to the displeasure of all the other bathers around you and the pain of whacking into the rocky surroundings. I swam in and out of the puffs of steam from the bubbling geothermal pool, was pummelled by the artificial massaging waterfall, and struggled for breath in the close and dripping steam baths - one carved right into the rockface to resemble a dark and misty lava cave and the other with moist white walls like the silicon mud everyone scoops from vats and plasters across their face and body. I wish I had had more time here as I could easily have whiled away an entire day in the lagoon's milky waters, but my flight and the state of my straw-like salty hair prevented more than a couple of hours of carefree floating. A wonderfully relaxing experience. Don't miss it.